


Parasites and Fairy Lights

by rubberbandx



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbandx/pseuds/rubberbandx
Summary: Dan and Phil (no AU pls, or I'll cry!) getting to spend Christmas together for the first time... by hosting both families in London.





	Parasites and Fairy Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DryCereal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryCereal/gifts).



 

The most important person in your life. The one that make you feel like you’re worth something and make it so you can’t keep a smile of your face. He can say something so stupid and it can make your day. He makes you feel giddy. You can’t stop laughing and he is laughing at you because of it. He can’t stop laughing and all you can think of is that you are the one that made him laugh. Before you call it love you call it glee. You find hope in the words he says to make you shut up because he wants you to stop worrying. And you feel like crying because at least you have him and he has you. You don’t get it and neither does he and circumstance is just that but so is fate. You don’t believe in fate but you believe in him and he believes in you.

And you miss him. And he’s telling you that you’ll see him soon and you know he’s right. But it doesn’t stop the pain you feel. Sometimes it feel like he is all you have and even though the fact that that isn’t true is being shoved down your throat you still don’t wanna believe it. Because you miss him. And he misses you. And it’s probably for the best. Everyone needs space, even when everything is perfect. There are other people who care and they deserve your attention. And when you want to give it to them too it isn’t because you feel obligated. It isn't because they’re blood, it’s genuine. But you don’t understand why you can’t have both. This supposedly most wonderful time of year is meant to be spent with loved ones, so why can’t you be with the one you love most? Yes, life’s not fair, but you’ve worked hard enough and you deserve it. 

You have been to hell and back and he has been with you all the way. You’re making a life together and together is together is together. 

It hasn’t been like that before. It’s the same reason you would cry yourself to sleep and the same reason you left as soon as you could and the same reason you don’t talk about it. It’s the thing that makes it feel like your chest is caving in. Your lungs are being crushed and you’re losing breath. You feel like you’re hanging upside down and blood is rushing to your head. Your eyes are dry and full at the same time and your lips are moving like you have something to say but the only noise coming out is the sound of ragged breaths. Your skin is peeling from the fiery glares and as each curl of flesh falls to the floor it only gets hotter. You’re seen for who you are and you never thought it would burn so bad. 

When you’re with him his looks aren’t very hot or cold. They are warm and comforting and sometimes they give you a red tint because how did you get so lucky. He doesn’t need to peel back your skin because with him you open your mouth and words come out and he laughs and cries and makes everything feel alright. And you know it’s real because then his lips start moving and he tells you his own secrets.Together, you and him make your own secrets and they don’t even feel like secrets anymore. 

It doesn’t make the bad things go away, it just makes them easier. He understands you and you him. And when you recall the things they had said he knows why they made you hurt. When you try to explain to him how they still make you hurt even without words, he understands that too. That’s why when you’re with him the world feels like it has a filter on it. And when that filter fades away everything is a little more scary.

You do things the way you do because it’s easier. When you just go along with everything the way it is. You don’t have to explain yourself thus not letting them in. Not letting them get anywhere near the point where they could hurt you again. You can hide who you are. You can let them call you by your full first name. You can let them judge what you do.

You tell yourself that alone you have no one to impress. You tell yourself you don’t care what they think. You tell yourself that you have made a life for yourself and that’s all that matters. You’ve been pushing them away but it’s fine because you tell yourself it is.

You’ve been lying to yourself. When you say that you don’t care when you do care. When you say that you have everything you could ever want when you don’t. In a way they have broken you but you won’t let them build you back up. You grin and bare it when you don’t have to because you don’t want to accept that forgiveness is hard.

But now, when he suggests the idea. Letting them into your home. The very place where you and him live together. Where you are happiest. Where you be your full self and never feel too hot or too cold. You agree.

Because you and him don’t have everything. You are working on it, but it has yet to come. And you don’t think you are going to be ready to move on unless they are too.

 

* * *

  
  


Regret. Almost immediate regret. You are alone now. No fiery stares. But you feel like you are not at home in you own body. Like you are instead watching as your body is treated like a voodoo doll in the hands of one who cares only to wreck you.

You watch as they squeeze. The see how underneath each of their fingernails the skin slowly slowly turns white. It starts at the tip and surrounds the little pink rectangle that sits at the center. You watch the fingers tense as they bend and you can imagine the pain they must feel. You imagine squeezing hard around nothing and the way they must be feeling too. Their knuckles turn white and the joints stick out. You see your own chest pushed in from both sides. Your internal organs pressed together on the inside until you become one vessel of mush and damage. Isn't that what you already are?

They stop then. They release the tension in their hands and your chest expands again. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. You take a deep breath in but your lungs aren’t in the right place and it doesn’t work. 

They keep squeezing.

You feel like a bellow. You’ve been used with too much force and there are holes in your sides and ash pours out. No matter how hard you try you don’t work quite right. The fire is dying and you might as well be.

You should be. Dead.

He holds your hand and he rubs your back. You didn’t realize you were crying because your eyes are dry, but he wipes the tears from your cheeks. He tells you it would be okay because he would be with you. That you’re stronger together. That where it was hard in the past can’t possibly be hard, when he’s there with you. He tells you that you would prove them wrong because you and him are on top of the world. You laugh together then because you are quite literally on top of the world. He tells you that being freakishly tall is nothing to be proud of. Technically this has to be a form of bullying, but you feel better. He has that effect on you.

 

* * *

 

A Christmas tree stands in your living room. It’s plastic and prelit. Those white lights are reflecting off the windows behind the tree that work as filter to everything on the outside. From the inside looking out everything is different. Streetlights illuminate the wet sidewalks. You can imagine everything on those sidewalks; like cigarette butts and chewed up gum and litter. But what you can see is how the shallow puddles that are scattered across the concrete show a blurry version of the night. Like brush strokes across a canvas, headlights from the busy London street are flashing upon that rainwater. Someone hustles by and steps in one of the puddles. It’s like the painting previously mentioned is being ripped to shreds. Now it’s almost like if time has been put in reverse. The painting is repairing itself. Slowly the canvas is complete again. Complete with its moving brush strokes conveying headlights. The headlights belong to the cars and the cars to the people and the people to themselves and themselves to the fantasies they make up when they have nothing to do but stare out the window.

You hear literal jingle bells. And figurative ones. The literal ones are inside the box he just dragged into the lounge. The figurative ones are inside the little giggle he makes when he stands up straight and sighs heavily. He smiles so big just then. He looks so prideful, it’s ridiculous. All he did was dig out a box of Christmas decorations. But when you see his face and his smile and everything about the man you have made a life with and whom you love more than anything else in this aesthetically pleasing world; you can’t help but smile too. You smile so much. You feel how your lips stretch over your teeth and then your gums. You are smiling so much that when he leans over to kiss you you’re still smiling. And you’re still smiling but also laughing when he trips over the box that is still in between you two. And you are still smiling throughout the whole night of hot cocoa and candy canes and tinsel. 

The lights look different now. There are more ornaments that capture their glow and it’s so pretty. It’s different that the fantasy that lives outside because it’s right here. Sometimes it feels like all you have is bitter hope but not now. You are on top of the world like that star is on top of that tree. And the fairy lights are bright like the streetlamps outside. The people that own the cars are just like you. And the puddles that you try to make pretty are like a painting.

 

* * *

 

Can you list all the things that give you a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest? Think of a gingerbread cookie and they way the cakey texture breaks apart when you take a bite. The sweet sting of the molasses and the confectionery warmth of the frosting as it melts on your tongue. 

The way you feel when you wake up on Christmas morning. Is that joy? Are you giddy? 

You’ve never been able to describe it. You barely even acknowledged it before. But things change. 

As a child, it would be the sea of presents under the tree and the possibility. Maybe that went away for awhile. Presents got smaller and you maybe felt like you didn't deserve them. You weren't excited for what the rest of the day held, either.

But things are different now. Because the sweet smell of sugar glaze fills your nose and goes through your whole body. everything feels okay right now. You are purely warm. 

With him, everything is easier. His people, his “them”, are easier. Some of them arrived last night. They smelt like rose perfume and  sandalwood aftershave. They can tighten around your chest but its soft. It’s comforting and like him. You think that's where he gets his warmth.

You spent the whole night with them. You talked for hours. It was all easy. You laughed for real. You cuddled close to him. When you turned your head you were right in his neck. When you exhaled you felt your own breathe’s warmth radiate of of his skin. His arm was wrapped around your waist. You had a fire going. You were drinking wine. The Christmas tree was right in your line of sight and if you looked straight ahead for too long your eyes would start to burn from the bright lights. 

Now you and his mother started making dinner. You had told her that you were fine on your own. But she had insisted. You mostly wanted to be alone so you could sneak a drink. But after thinking about it you decided that probably wasn't a good idea.

She helped you prepare it and then you put the ham in the oven. You leaned against the counter and now you are talking again. Not too much unlike last night. It’s still easy. 

You admit to her about your plans to drink. She smiles at you then. But it looks sad. You feel yourself return it. And then all of a sudden she pulls you into a hug. A gentle squeeze that you melt into. She tells you it’s going to be okay. She knows how hard this was for you and him to decide upon but she’s still happy to be here. She tells you that she loves him and you. You tell her thank you. That she’s making it easier by the minute. She lets you go then, but remains in front of you. She says to save the drinking for at least a bit later into the day. You laugh and so does she. You decide its best to keep working.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, more of his people arrive. It’s okay though. They are okay. You spent the majority of the year with them in some way or another anyway. He answers the door. You’re still in the kitchen when they walk by. And you go to embrace the two of them. You talk of how they’ve been and how you’ve been. You tell the shorter one that she looks good. She laughs and returns the compliment. You ask them if you can get them anything and they say they’ll take something after they’re settled. They begin walking to the lounge and you make a move to follow them. 

He comes up behind you then. He wraps his arm around your waist and you lean your head on his shoulder. You tell him you’re being a good housewife and he says he new you would be. He leans close to you and whispers in your ear. You tense. Because what if he asks you how you are and you can't tell him what he wants to hear. Instead he asks you who you think will get pissed first. You curl into his chest when you laugh. He wraps both of his arms around you. He giggles when he kisses your hair. And when you break apart he brings his hands up to your face and looks into your eyes. He doesn't say anything then, but it doesn't matter. Somehow his eyes say it all even though they can’t speak. The two of you walk together to the lounge.

 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s later. They arrived not too long ago. “They” meaning your “them”. You were kind of in a haze throughout the greetings. You exchanged pleasantries and then everything started moving. The formalities of the day passed. You sat at a table and ate the food you had prepared. You claimed you had slaved away in the kitchen for days. Much of the conversation was catching up. You appreciated that. You had a lot to tell and they listened. You couldn’t pretend pretend like that was new, but you had accepted it.  That they were willing to listen now, and maybe they had been for a while. 

After the meal, everyone met in the lounge. They had asked you if you had the board game you used to play with them. You had jumped up excitedly when you told them you have a festive version. You had a moment of hesitation before you left to get it. But they were smiling back.

You returned and the atmosphere had been the same. As it was the throughout the time you spent playing. It was fun. Genuinely. You had nearly beat yourself up for worrying so much. But you couldn’t bring yourself. Things were just good.

Later, the festivities themselves have calmed down. You finally got around to having that drink, but you didn’t feel like you needed it nearly as much. You’re watching your glass now You roll your wrist and watch the small amount of liquid swirl around the center. You do it until it splashes dangerously close to the edge of the glass. You stand and announce that you’re getting a refill. As you walk to the kitchen, you hear a voice behind you. Someone standing up. But you chose to ignore it. Mere seconds after you turn into the kitchen, someone joins you. She asks how you are. You know what’s coming  so you just tell her you’re okay. She pulls you into a hug. She doesn’t seem sure about it, but you hug her back. She asks why you decided to have people over this year. The way she makes it sound could imply that it’s just polite conversation. But you know it’s not.

It’s the conversation you’ve been avoiding. For years. She has too. Whenever it had seemed like it was about to be brought up, she’d say something to dismiss it. Usually along the lines of you needing to visit more. How could you deprive a poor old woman of a chance to see her kin.You’d laugh and tell her she’s not old. That you always miss her. And then you’d move on.

Maybe you would have tried to do the same now, but even just recently, this has been eating you up. It was like a parasite. Depending on the host for life. Taking everything that makes up the host as its own. But thinking of itself as the host. When it’s just a parasite. A thought. A worry. 

So you let it happen. You’re ready to talk. You’re ready to forgive. You’re ready to move on. You are the host. And you do not live only for your parasite.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I don't really know what to write here, but I hope you liked it :p  
> Also, thanks to my awesome beta reader! I really couldn't have done this without you.


End file.
